


Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit

by Moths_Spiders_Books



Category: The Magnus Archives
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moths_Spiders_Books/pseuds/Moths_Spiders_Books
Summary: Gerard Kaey is looking for another AWOL Leitner. He runs into difficulties with its current owner.





	Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit

“I’ve never met a murderer before.”  
He doesn’t react to his the way she expects; just a shrug and an eyeroll. In her head she provides him with not so much as an undressing but a redressing. She starts from the inside out - clean eating, accutane, a gym membership. He’s starting to get a bit chubby; clearly one of those guys that never got the memo that after twenty eight you can’t eat anything you want. Maybe a bit of therapy for the possible matricide. That hair dye is too harsh for his colouring. Then some Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille - he smells vaguely of sweat. Get rid of the ugly Matrix-era leather jacket and everything else underneath. A designer tee-shirt, a nice cashmere sweater. All Saints Jeans, All Saints leather jacket. Maybe an Alexander McQueen scarf, one of those ones with the skulls on. Keep the goth aesthetic, just throw money at it until he looks like someone worth knowing.  
“It’s pretty much the only reason I’m talking to you. I get a lot of crazy calling me up.”  
“Murdering my mother wouldn’t make me crazy?”  
“It makes you more interesting than most people I meet.”  
“I was acquitted,” He grunts. “Mind if I smoke?”  
“Only if you share.”  
He looks annoyed.  
“You can’t afford your own?”  
“What do you want, Mr. Kaey?”  
“I want to talk to you about a book.”  
She feels cold, suddenly, but warm, unseen fingers stroke her back until she settles. Gerard Kaey’s eyes fix on something that stands just behind her shoulder. He scratches his knuckles, clearly uneasy.  
“It’s called _‘Omnia vincit amor’._ White leather cover. Maybe it’s called titled different. But it’ll have a bookplate in it -”  
“From the library of Jurgen Leitner?”  
“So you do have it.”  
He lights a cigarette and passes it to her. His hands are shaking. His eyes keep flickering to whatever stands behind her. Hands pull her hair back and gently lay it over her shoulder. Does it actually move? From the look on Gerard Kaey’s face, it does. And she knows he can see it, whatever it is, her constant friend.  
“It’s dangerous.” Now there’s that anger, a sudden snarl. There are hands on her shoulders and they squeeze, hard.  
“Not to me.”  
“You don’t know that.” He’s starting to sweat.  
She leans back into its embrace.  
“As long as I give it wants, it’s not dangerous.”  
“What it wants-?”  
She takes a drag on the cigarette and smiles. Leathery lips kiss her cheek. It itches slightly, but she no longer minds.  
“You can see it. What do you think it wants?”  
An answering shudder.  
“I didn’t think you’d be this...squeamish.”  
It’s boring, she thinks. You’re boring and this conversation’s boring.  
“Not everyone can be Kate or Naomi, you see. I’ve got money, but that’s come at-”  
“You don’t have any friends.”  
She shrugs.  
“No. No family either. But as long as I have the book, I’m never going to be lonely.”  
“You’re never going to be alone.”  
“People take pictures of me every time I step out of my front door. I’m used to it. But it’s not always going to be that way. _Omnia vincit amor_ is for when it ends.”  
She finishes the cigarette and stubs it out onto the side table. Gerard is now staring at her, rather than her friend. Obviously it’s moved somewhere else. Such a novelty - disbelief, rather than jealousy or lust. She feels like Gerard Kaey is the first man in a long time to look at her as a person. He clearly doesn’t like what he sees.  
“Jurgen Leitner didn’t know what he had.” He’s stubborn, she’ll give him that.  
“But I do. He just didn’t know how to keep it happy. Did you murder him as well?”  
He snorts.  
“I did my research. It was either you, someone like you, or those anoraks from the Mansfield Institute or whatever it’s called.”  
He actually grins at that. His teeth are quite good for a smoker.  
“Don’t underestimate them.”  
She laughs.  
“I go to the same parties as their donors. I don’t think they’ll trouble me much.”  
“So,” Gerard says, casting about for an ashtray, “If you knew who I was, and weren’t going to give the Leitner up - why did you let me in?”  
She takes his cigarette and stubs it out on the table. The lacquer sizzles.  
“I thought - if he’s murdered his own mother, and he really wants to get his hands on my book..” Now his face has gone white, either with shock or anger. “Then he might try something. And if he does, what will happen?”  
He stands up so fast his knees scrape against the coffee table. He turns towards the door and stops.  
“Call it off,” he whispers.  
“Call what off?”  
“You know -” it’s a shout, and suddenly he flinches and cowers away from...it, presumably.  
“Call it off.” This time it’s a plea, and this satisfies her, so she says to the empty air,  
“Now. Let him go.”  
An exhale. Then he bolts for the door, opens it, then slams it so hard several expensive knicknacks clatter to the floor.  
She goes to her bedroom and pulls her book from underneath her pillow. She doesn’t understand half of it; words like “love” and “the most beautiful” appear in latin several times and half of it seems to be in French. But the pictures are beautiful. Nymphs frolic in waterfalls, watched by centurions. A knight sighs outside a tower containing a beautiful maiden. The margins are filled with roses and vines and pomegranates and dragons. Its white leather cover is pristine. She kisses the cover and puts the book back. Then she undresses. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow; up for a photoshoot in some stately house or another, and half of that taken up by makeup and wardrobe fluttering around her. Early bedtime is called for.  
She settles in, the sheets soft and cool against her bare skin. Beside her, the mattress sinks under the weight of something she cannot see. There is a dry kiss on her shoulder, and arms, impossibly long and thin, wrap around her.  
Mine, she thinks. Mine forever.

**Author's Note:**

> "Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit" translates to "True love will hold on to those whom it has held" (Seneca)


End file.
